All An Act
by Pyrex Shards
Summary: Getting caught in a rainstorm without an umbrella in front of Curly's house is not good, if your name is Rhonda Wellington Lloyd.


All An Act

a _Hey Arnold_ fanfic by Pyrex Shards

beta-read by Lord Malachite

OoooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooO

Why am I doing this? Why, oh why, am I standing in front of the Devil's apartment about to knock on his door? I'll tell you why. It is because I, Rhonda Wellington Lloyd, completely forgot that it was supposed to rain this afternoon--and I did not take an umbrella with me. I also missed the bus. So I'm standing here on a stoop that might as well be enemy territory. The rain has soaked completely through my clothes and it feels like I am swimming in them. My Caprini boots are going to be several sizes smaller after this because I didn't think to wear my rain shoes. My hair is matted on top of my head and I swear the rain drops are so thick that I can count each and every one of them as they hit my head.

The rain picks up as I lift my right hand up to the door and close my eyes. I knock so hard that I can feel the shock travel up my arm. This rain is horribly cold. I stand waiting for a response and thinking about what's going to happen when he opens the door. This is not going to end well for me. I'll have to make him swear on a stack of holy books not to tell anyone or my reputation is going to be ruined. But alas, I'm desperate.

I wait for the door to open for a few moments. I'm sure about a bajillion raindrops have hit me already. Nothing happens. Maybe he's not home, I hope. I gather up some wits again and knock on the door, a little harder this time, I can definitely feel each knock travel up my arm as my knuckles rasp against the cold door. Ten more rain drops, fifty more rain drops. I hear the deadbolt click. The door slowly opens and Thaddeus "Curly" Gamelthorpe peers out at me. It is official, my life is so over!

"Rhonda?" Curly asks me. I can't look beyond those ridiculous bottle cap glasses of his but I just know deep down his temperature is rising and his brain has just switched gears. I don't want to know abut the other effects I am having on him. But he just stands there staring at me. There is no grin on his face. I think I've shorted the little geeks brain right out of his head.

"Curly..." I stutter, shivering, holding my arms around my body "can I come in!?"

Curly looks around me and back at my eyes questioningly, maybe he thinks this is a trick. "Rhonda my sweet, I--"

"Are you going to let me in or not?! It's freezing out here!" I snap at him.

He takes a step back, opening the door with him. "Come in my..," He barely manages before I rush the door as he attempts his bow. I hug myself tightly. The dry air of the house hits my clothes, making them so much colder. I notice I have goosebumps all over my skin. Behind me I can hear Curly close the door and the click of the deadbolt. I start shivering even more. I turn around and look at Curly. He seems to regard me for what I'm thinking is too long.

A few moments and he sighs. I have to take control of this hideous situation. "Okay first off, I'm here to escape the rain and nothing else. Got it? You can go on about your business and pretend like I'm not here." I raise a hand and attempt to dismiss him but instead I have to lift it up to my face as I feel a sneeze coming on. "AACHOO!" I can feel the pressure in my head, suddenly I'm more than aware of how much I'm shivering, and how Curly has just rushed to my side and put a hand on my shoulder.

"I'm afraid that you're going to get deathly ill in those wet clothes. You should get out of them right away before you catch a cold, my sweet."

I look at him in shock and shrug his hand off my shoulder, staring at him. "Oh no you don't! I'm not going to give you the opportunity, I... I... ACHOO!!!" I barely have time to bring my hand up to my face again.

Curly takes my other hand and gently pulls me towards the stairs. "Come on. I'll show you were the bathroom is."

I yank my hand out of the creeps clutches and he stares back at me in shock, one foot already on the stairs. I fold my arms at him and lift up my nose. "I may be coming down with a common cold but I'm perfectly capable of climbing stairs by myself, thank you very much. Oh, and another thing..." I feel another sneeze coming on and I fight to keep it down. "don't you dare tell anyone about this or my reputation will be ruined! Got that Curly?!"

He nods at me as I lift my head to look away, big mistake. "ACHOO!" I lurch forward. I stand there for a second, the pain moving around my head, neck, and chest. "Ow." I whisper to myself. I look at Curly again. "Show me to your bathroom, please."

"Your wish is my command." Curly responds and bows towards me dramatically, like he's in some kind of Shakespearean play. He leads me up a flight of stairs. I'd rather it be down a flight of stairs. I feel like I'm descending. "Oh, and don't worry about my parents. They're both working today."

I roll my eyes. "Who said I was worried about your parents?"

He turns to look at me, regards me for a hideously long moment, and says "if my parents caught me home alone with such a gorgeous specimen, I'd be grounded for a month. No phone, no television, no Cracklin' Oat Bran in the morning..." he says while counting off with his fingers.

Oh gawd. "Hmmph..." I reply. I start forward on the stairs and push my way past Curly. "If you'll excuse me I have to get out of these, ah, these clothes. ACHOO!!!" The force of the sneeze almost makes me lose my balance and I clutch the rail tightly, standing straight.

"Rhonda my..." he puts another hand on my shoulder and I instinctively shrug it off.

"Save it Curly. And don't touch me! I can manage on my own. Just show me to your bathroom alright." I turn my head to look down at him. "You don't want you're precious to catch pneumonia."

That seems to shut the creep up. He frowns at me starts climbing the stairs. "Follow me." He says quietly.

Once at the top of the stairs he turns left and walks down the hallway. I follow slowly. My every move forward seems to invite a slight breeze and it just gets colder and colder. He stops at the door at the end of the hallway and opens it, pulling out a blue, tattered, but very big bath towel. A bath towel that has seen better days. There's little blue strings hanging wildly all over the edges.

"Here you go." Curly hands me the towel gently and I yank it from his grasp, yet he doesn't flinch. He walks to my right and quickly opens a door then pushes it open. Beyond the door is a modest bathroom. He reaches around the door jam and flicks the lights above the mirror. "Go on in my sweet. I'll wait out here for your gracious commands." The creep seems nervous, like he's waiting for something to happen. I prod myself into the bathroom and shut the door, pressing in the lock with my thumb.

I immediately scan the room for video recorders and peep holes, even checking the door for spaces in the door jam or obvious signs that he's peering in from under the door. Nothing on the door but a black bathrobe and no suspicious holes in the walls. I don't see anything out of the ordinary. Just a spartan, though very clean bathroom with a free standing sink, a full size mirror with generic vanity lights on the very top near the ceiling, and a nice looking bathtub with spotless porcelain. Even the blue-green tiles on the floor are spotless.

I must've been gawking for a bit because I hear Curly ask "Rhonda my sweet, are you okay?" from behind the door.

I sigh and roll my eyes. Jeez he's still at the door. "I'm fine Curly!" I say in annoyance.

"Okay." He responds quickly, though quietly. "Feel free to use the bathrobe on the door. It's just been dried and I think you will find that it is more than adequate for a precious gem like yourself."

"It's not *your* bathrobe is it?"

"I don't use a bathrobe."

"Too much information!" I yell back. "But thank you."

There's no response. I reach for my damp shirt and start pulling it up, but stop as the air hits my stomach. There is just no way I'm doing this with that crazy standing on the other side of the door. "Um. Curly?"

"Yes, my one and only?"

"Can you go downstairs or something? Anywhere? Away from the bathroom?"

"I'll go downstairs and ready the laundry room for your gracious arrival." I hear footsteps and creaking wood as he walks away from the bathroom door. I drop on all fours quickly and push my face against the bottom of the door. I angle my face to where I can barely see from under the door. Curly is either downstairs or he's hiding from view. I inhale slowly and feel dust entering my nose. I feel a sneeze coming on and squint my eyes shut. "ACHOO!!!" I pull away from the door and put a hand to my face against the dull pain from the sneeze. I better get out of these clothes.

I drape the towel across the sink as I stand and begin taking off my clothes. First my boots; oh my poor, poor Caprini boots. The air hits my wet socks and my feet chill fast. I quickly pull off the wet socks and deposit them in a pile. I look at myself in the mirror, cursing whatever god there is for this predicament. Off comes my cold red shirt, and I eye the bottom of the door again. I fling the shirt down and it hits the bottom of the door with a wet thud. Better safe than sorry, who knows where that creep is. My designer jeans are next to meet the shirt against the door. I kick them around with my feet to cover up the bottom of the door until I'm satisfied that I won't be adding to Gamelthorpe's fantasies. I unclasp my black bra and let it fall, then my matching panties join it on the floor at my feet.

I shiver a bit. But I'm already feeling better. I reach for the towel, which is surprisingly soft for its age. I dry myself with it quickly, running it through my damp hair then down to my ankles. I wonder what kind of tricks Curly's family has up their sleeves, since they own a dry cleaning business they must have a lot of secrets for getting clothing to feel like this towel does. It feels wonderful.

I'm obviously not going to be able to stand in this bathroom while my clothes are drying. I reach for the bathrobe and pull it off of the hook on the door. I hug it to myself. It's so soft, just like the towel. I swear I must ask Curly how they do it. I move the bathrobe around me and push my arms through, I think I'm enjoying this sensation a little too much. I wrap it tightly around and then tie it in place as I smile.

"Curly?" I ask the door. I get no response. He must be at the dryer like he said. Or he's staying quiet, hoping trip into me and feign an accident as he hovers above me and looks at... I shake my head, killing that thought. It'd be best not to let my imagination get the better of me. I gently pick up my poor, poor Caprinis, then I gently lay the wet clothing on top them. At the sight of my matching black bra and panties sitting on top of the clothing I quickly gather them up with my left hand and push them underneath my shirt in the pile. I'm not giving Gamelthorpe a free viewing of my underwear!

I take one last look at myself in the mirror, raising my free hand up to tease my hair so it isn't so messy. After a few, deep, lingering breaths, trying to find whatever center I have left, I open the door so fast that I can feel a rush of wind. I make ready to scold Gamelthorpe for trying something, but he's not there. I exit to the hallway and the old wood creaks warmly under my feet. Just now I notice a pair of flip-flops sitting there. I smile. For an insane person, Curly sure is thoughtful. I move the flip-flops around with my toes and then slip them onto my feet. I tap the toes of the oversize flops against the ground to make sure they're on and then I walk to the stairs. The flip flops move around a lot, but I scrunch the strap between my toes and they stay.

It is then that I realize, I have no idea where I'm going, and this situation is, well, I have never imagined that I'd be in this situation. Perhaps I had a nightmare about it once. I concentrate on each stair step as I make my way down. My right hand grips the railing. I keep having horrid thoughts of this bath robe slipping off despite the fact that it's so tight. Yet it's so soft it feels like it could slip, and the king of dorks would walk around the corner at the bottom of the stairs a few seconds later.

Once I hit the bottom of the stairs I look for clues that could lead me to the laundry room. Finding none, I finally ask "Curly?" in a raised voice.

"Downstairs hall, the door at the end!" Comes the response. I look around the stairs to see an open door with a light. I gulp, and walk towards it slowly. This has got to be some kind of cheesy horror movie. A beautiful young woman approaches an open door. From beyond that door strange and terrifying sounds can be heard. She approaches the door curiously, in disregard for her own safety. As she approaches the door Curly stands right in front of me and I nearly jump out of the bathrobe. I inhale an entire lungs worth of air in a second.

"Hey Rhonda... Oh. I'm sorry." He blushes at the sight of me and looks away.

I notice his blush as I catch my breath. Part of me wants to scold him for blushing at me. "Don't do that again Curly or I swear I'll... I'll..." I stammer. I decide to opt for controlling my breathing instead of threatening the twerp as he turns around and leads me into the laundry room.

"Just put your clothes in the dryer and I'll take care of the settings, my love." He motions dramatically at large steel dryer. It looks like it belongs in a laundromat. Heck, why not? His family's in the business anyway.

I stuff the clothing into the dryer and hug my damp Caprinis to my chest in concentration. I watch Curly curiously as he adjusts some settings. It seems to have more knobs that I've ever seen on a dryer. Some of the settings look strange. He then turns around and reaches for a box of dryer sheets on top of the folding table, and a spray bottle as I realize how small this room is.

He sprays the dryer sheet several times with the liquid from the spray bottle. The very soft and pleasant scent of the liquid hits my nose. "Lavender?" I ask.

At the sight of my curious stare Curly offers, "It's a secret family recipe, handed down over a few generations of Gamelthorpes." He smiles as he sits the spray bottle back on the folding table. Oh my god, he's proud of a secret family recipe for fabric softener! I resist the urge to turn and laugh. Curly closes the dryer door and punches a few buttons, the dryer lurches to life.

"Your boots please my pet?" He asks me over the sound of the dryer, holding out his hands. I quickly hand Curly the waterlogged designer Caprini boot from my right hand, and return my hand to my bathrobe almost as quickly as I hand him the other hopelessly water soaked boot.

He takes the boots and sits them on top of a wire mesh. Beside the wire mesh on the folding table is a small table fan and some newspaper. "Your boots will be dry in no time" he says to me, while sitting the shoes on the mesh. He takes pages from the newspaper, crumples them up, and stuffs the boots full. After that he turns the fan on low. "Okay, that's done. This won't take too long. Let us go into the kitchen and I'll make you some hot chocolate to warm you up"

I nod, I still have some lingering cold in me. "That sounds good."

Curly smiles and walks around me. "C'mon my precious love droplet." He motions. I raise my head into the air and sigh.

We walk half way to the front door, then an abrupt right into the dining room, and the kitchen beyond. The kitchen and dining room are separated by an impressive looking island with a sink. I'll say this for Curly's situation. His family seems pretty well off for running a dry cleaning business. I glance at a convenient clock on the wall, three forty-five PM.

The places on the dining room table are set but the plates are sitting upside down, along with the cups. The entire table is covered with a nice looking blue table cloth. The centerpiece rests atop an oversize doily. The centerpiece itself is a bunch of fake leaves, fall colored to match the season. Beside the centerpiece there's some very small pumpkins. A simple brass chandelier completes the table. Beyond that is the kitchen, everything seems new and spotless.

Curly sees that I'm obviously impressed with the room and the creep appears confident as he walks into the kitchen, though his smile just doesn't seem all there, like there's something underneath. It's strange but I thought I could read Curly like a book. I am Rhonda Wellington Lloyd, and he is my hopeless crazy fanboy. Though now I notice, as he reaches up to the cupboard and produces two average looking mugs, that he's definitely enjoying himself.

I pull a chair out from under the dining room table, the seat on the end, and carefully sit down with my legs crossed tightly. No malfunctions here. Curly holds a tea kettle over the sink and lets it fill. Once he's done with that he walks over to the stove. He sits the tea kettle on the burner and turns on the stove

"You're quiet all of the sudden," I state, watching him as he adjusts the burner and the tea kettle and then turns to walk towards me.

"I'm concentrating on making this hot chocolate for you." He pulls out a chair near mine and sits down, resting his chin in his hand, staring warmly at me.

I cross my arms and look at him incredulously. "I'm sitting here in your dining room, with nothing on but a bathrobe, and you're concentrating on hot chocolate."

Curly leans back and adjust the glasses on his nose. "Yes, I'm making this hot chocolate for you, my sweet. And it must be absolutely perfect."

I should have known. "It's just hot chocolate." I say with a dismissive gesture of my hand.

"But it's for you." He says back, softly.

"I know its for me. But you don't have to pay extra special attention to it. You're not going to impress me with hot chocolate." I shake my head at him.

But the goofy warm smile stays on his face. "Just wait and see my love."

I sigh and lay my head against the table. "You're hopeless Curly." He doesn't respond but I can feel his stare, that grin on his face. Oh God please take me now.

After a few minutes of awkward silence with only the ticking of the clock on the wall, the whistle on the tea kettle starts quiet and then gets louder. Curly stands up and walks to the stove, turning off the heat. I watch on curiously as Curly opens the cupboard, expecting him to pull out some packets of instant chocolate. Instead he pulls out a few jars of ingredients, and a large chocolate colored canister with the word "cocoa" in white. He opens the jars and starts measuring them out into the mugs with a measuring cup, including a generous scoop of cocoa. He then pours the hot water into the mugs. After stirring the concoctions with a small spoon and returning the jars to their place, he brings the mugs back to the table, being careful to sit the mug close to me without burning my skin.

"Here you go." He sits down in his chair. I peer into the mug. It doesn't even look instant. It looks darker.

I pick up the mug and slowly blow at the surface of the liquid, I can smell the fresh sugar-laced cocoa in the steam as it enters my nose. I inhale again. "Oh my god! This smells so good!"

"It's a family recipe." Curly adds, smiling at me triumphantly while lifting up his own mug and inhaling. "Only the best for you." he says, exhaling slowly.

"Thank you." I manage.

"You're welcome... my pet."

I sigh and sit the mug down with more of a thud than I had hoped. "Can you stop doing that?" I say with annoyance.

"Stop what, my love?" He asks, in mock surprise.

"That! Stop ending all your sentences with 'my love, my one and only, my pet, my precious , my baby doll.' It's just so, so creepy!" I snap back.

Curly shakes his head at me as I look on. "How else am I supposed to profess my undying adoration to you, my shining star in the midnight sky? My precious raindrop in the desert. My tender..."

"Curly!" I raise a hand to silence him. He blushes. "Look. I know you've been crushing on me for a long time, and I can sort of understand why. I am the most popular, easily the most beautiful girl in school. But you say the creepiest things when you're around me. Can't you just stop doing that and talk like a normal person for once? It's embarrassing."

Curly looks at me and shakes his head. "I have no idea what you're talking about."

I snort. "Oh puhlease. You know exactly. You've only been doing it for the past six years." I cross my arms and lean back in my chair.

"You're right. I have been, haven't I?"

"And while we're on the subject, what makes you think you can win me over like that, anyway?"

"What makes you think I won't, my love?" He chuckles.

"In your dreams." I look away. This conversation is just a game to him.

After some silence, I hear his chair creak as he leans back "We'll always have Carmina Burana."

I look back at him, dumbfounded. "Huh?"

"Carmina, Burana." He repeats slowly. "It's a Ballet based off of some old medieval poetry."

"What does that have to do with the price of tea in China?"

"You don't remember, do you? Oh wait, you have no idea I was there?"

Now Curly is starting to officially creep me out. I shake my head. "You better start making sense in about five seconds, Gamelthorpe, or I'm grabbing my clothes out of the dryer and I'm leaving."

That crazy grin fades from Curly's face as he stands up. "Um. I'll be right back, I have to go get something from my room." He walks around the table and into the hallway. He bounds up the stairs and I can hear every single footstep as he marches. I swear if he tries anything creepy, I'm leaving. I pick up the mug and idly take a sip, realizing this is the first time I've actually sipped this hot chocolate as the taste hits my tongue.

"Oh wow." I say to myself, letting the hot chocolate roll on my tongue. "This is good." I take another sip, letting myself get lost in the taste of the hot chocolate. First the really soft towel, then this amazing bathrobe, and now the hot chocolate. I let my thoughts wander. Am I judging Curly too harshly?

I hear some rustling up stairs as I imagine Curly rifling through his belongings. I wonder idly how many of my class pictures he has in his collection, among other things. I know he has one of my framed portraits from Glamor Shots. He never did get a lock of my hair, thank God. I shudder at the thought. That was, and still is, completely gross.

The rustling stops and I hear a door shut. The steps creak as he walks down the stairs. This had better be worth the time. He enters the dining room with a poster rolled up in his hands. He walks around me and stands by his chair. Curly grins and unrolls the poster towards me. "Do you recognize this?" he asks.

I look at the poster slowly. The drawings look ancient. There's a wheel surrounded by a bunch of people doing various things. There is some kind of god in the middle. I read the bottom of the poster aloud. "Carl Orff's Carmina Burana, March 6th at the Hillwood Civic Opera center?"

"We were in first grade. Do you remember?"

I look up at Curly then look again at the poster in recognition. "I think so. I think I went to that Ballet with my mom."

"You did. I remember clearly. I sat a couple rows behind you." I stare blankly at him. Curly rolls up the poster and sits down in his chair again, taking a sip from his hot chocolate with one hand and gently holding the poster in his other. "I'll never forget."

"That's just..." I let my voice rise. "so creepy Curly. So you've also been stalking me since the first grade?!"

Curly sits the poster on the table and waves his hands at me. "No, that's not true. Well. After the Ballet it was kind of true but. Argh." Curly breathes out a sigh. "This is going to take some explaining."

"Well you better explain! And before my clothes are dry, because once they're dry I am _so_ out of here." I cross my arms and look at him, narrowing my eyes. This had better be good.

"Okay. Here goes."

He doesn't say anything for a while, preferring to look with much interest at his mug of hot chocolate. But then he puts a hand on his forehead. "Before I was born, my parents were playwrights. They weren't popular playwrights. Mostly they wrote plays for school children and used the royalties to supplement what they made from the dry cleaning business. This was all before I was born."

He picks up his mug and takes a long sip of hot chocolate, swallows, then continues. "After they had me, they realized their lives would be much busier running the dry cleaners and taking care of me. So they decided to stop writing, but their love of theater never died. Some of my earliest memories are of sitting inside the Hillwood Civic Opera, or some other theater, watching plays. And we went to a lot of them. My parents had connections since they were once in the business, so they got us lots of tickets."

"So you got cheap tickets to Carmina Burana and I just happened to be there?" I say impatiently. My clothes should be dry by now.

"Well, yeah." Curly looks up at me and shakes his head. "You're going to laugh at me, I know it." He looks down at his cup.

"I never said I would."

"Yes you will." He replies sharply. "I know you will. This is all really silly."

"Try me."

"Okay." Curly takes another sip of his hot chocolate while I do the same. "It wasn't the first time I had seen Carmina Burana, so I could look around and not miss much. That's when I noticed you were there. I could tell you were bored, and for some reason I couldn't look away."

"I didn't know I had an audience." I giggle.

"You promised not to laugh."

I stop giggling, "I'm sorry."

"It's okay. This is pretty funny." Curly grins back at me. "You were pretty much staring off into space, every now and then your mother would try and get you to pay more attention to the stage but it would only work for so long then you'd be staring off into space again."

I hang on Curly's words as the memories come. I remember that play. That long, boring play and all those dancers. All the singing was in some weird language. My mom admonishing me to pay more attention to the stage. At least the ballet dancers were kind of neat. Had I turned around, would I have seen Curly?

Curly continues. "But then the ballerina dancers came out and you snapped to attention. You were mesmerized with them."

I wave my hand at Curly dismissively. "Just a little girl's fantasy, that's all."

"Yes, but you have to understand Rhonda, theater, opera, ballet... They're all a big part of my life thanks to my parents."

"So what? Performance art is a big part of your life. What does it have to do with me at some stupid ballet in the first grade?"

"There's so few kids my age who actually appreciate that stuff, it was worse in the first grade. Kids our age were going to see Sesame Street and Barney musicals."

"Hey! There was nothing wrong with Sesame Street." I lift my face up. "I was rather fond of Big Bird."

"But..."

"But what? Curly?" I stare at Curly, attempting to knock him down a few notches. "So I went to see Carmina Burana with my mom. Big. Deal. She wanted me to go to that thing. I went along because I didn't have a choice. We *were* in the first grade after all. It's not like I could say 'I'm sorry mom but I think I'm going to stay home by myself, you go have fun at the ballet.' I had to go and I was bored out of my mind." I stand up and walk towards the hallway. "Where's your living room?" I don't intend for him to respond as I keep walking. I'll find his living room on my own.

I walk down the hallway and I hear a loud footfall behind me. I turn around, startled. Curly's standing dramatically in the entrance to the dining room, looking at me. "You did a pirouette."

"What?"

"You know, one of these!" Curly says as he brings his hands up above his head and twirls around on his toes.

"I know what a pirouette is! What are you talking about? I did a pirouette?" The dork is thorough. "When?"

"At the ballet? Remember?" Curly asks desperately. "You have to remember."

What am I kidding. "Of course I remember." I turn around and walk towards the front of the house. "Like I said, it was just some little girl's fantasy. I've grown up, Curly. We're in the seventh grade now. Nothing will change the fact that I'm not in the first grade anymore, and neither are you." I catch a glimpse of a couch to my right and turn to enter the living room. Like the dining room, the living room is spotless. Everything looks fresh and new, save for the little TV with rabbit ears sitting on a shelf. They must not watch much television. I make for the blue recliner. The last thing I want is to sit on the same couch with Curly.

Curly follows me into the living room and just stands there, staring at me. He's at a loss for words. I sit down at the recliner, making sure my legs are crossed tightly. He lowers his head and walks around the coffee table to sit on the matching blue sofa. "I'm in love with you, you know." He says in defeat while sitting down, resting his head on his palms.

There's nothing new in his admission that I don't already know, other than the way he just said it. I'm kind of stunned. "Because I did a pirouette at a ballet one time?" I offer gently.

"In the aisle after the ballet. Your mom managed to get in front of my family. You were just a few feet ahead of me. You were humming a softer part of O Fortuna, it was beautiful. And you did this little pirouette. You weren't on your toes, you just twirled around on your feet. You never saw me. But I remember."

My heart seems to get heavy as I look at him. "Curly, I..." We're interrupted by the shrill sound of the dryer beeping, but I don't get up, and neither does Gamelthorpe. We let the echo of the beep linger in the air after it silences. Finally I sigh. "I just don't get it. Why are you holding onto this memory of me? Why do you think that if you act all dramatic all the time around me, that somehow I'll let you sweep me off of my feet. Why do you *still* love me?"

Curly looks up at me. I can see something wet under his glasses, on his cheeks. Is he crying? "Do you understand love? Because I don't think you do." He says sharply. "I want to see that little girl again, and you're the only one Rhonda. You were that girl. And you still are that girl. But you won't understand. You've changed, like you said." He pauses to wipe his cheeks with his hands. "You've cast all that off, snubbed your nose at it, and moved on."

Curly's so not going to win this. "Wait just a minute. I distinctly remember our fourth grade trip to see Carmen. You weren't exactly enthusiastic then about seeing an opera, like the rest of us."

A brief silence. "That was all an act."

"I'd hardly call your reaction an act."

"I'm a good actor."

"All that creepy stuff you do when I'm around? Wanting some of my hair? Tricking me into being your girlfriend for a week after helping clean my mom's mink coat? All that *creepy* stuff you say to me. So that's all an act? Why?" I put my hands in front of me, palms up. "It doesn't make any sense!"

Curly stands up dramatically. "Oh but it makes perfect sense, my morning dove!" He bounds over the coffee table in a leap to stand in front of me. "I've been talking to you in the language of theater. I'm an actor on the stage of a play where the playwright hasn't written the next scene. In the play you're my beloved. But you're trapped in this tragedy along with me."

I lean back in the recliner. "What?" I ask. The old Curly's back, in full force.

Curly gets down on one knee and puts his arms out in a dramatic gesture. "I long to speak to that little girl in the language she understands. That same thing she saw on the stage the day of the ballet that made her want to do a dance in the aisle. And I'll keep on speaking to her in that language until one day she'll emerge and I'll sweep her off her feet, both giggling in joy."

I regard Curly in awe, stunned. I still try to look through those bottle cap glasses. I can see the tears on his cheeks as he sits down in front of me, with his arms around his legs. "I'm sorry, I'm creeping you out." He manages as another beep of the dryer fills the air. Curly doesn't move.

"I didn't..." I stop, trying to keep my thoughts straight. I'm seeing Curly, but there's so much more to him now. My hopeless fanboy, an actor in a play, trying to bring out a part of me that died. Did it? "I didn't know."

"It's kind of hard to figure out, I'm making my lines up as I go along. Besides, you're not my intended audience. That girl I met at the ballet is my audience."

"She's gone, Curly. I'm sorry."

"Is she really gone?" Curly looks back up at me. "How are you so sure that she's dead and never coming back. Every now and then I swear, out of the corner of my eye."

"I know I'm probably sending you some mixed signal. I have to keep up appearances at school. I'm the most popular girl and they all look up to me."

Curly manages a snort. "No. That's not it."

"What is then?"

"You're capable of so much more than just shallow, petty things like popularity. I should know. I've seen it."

I stand up and chuckle. "When?" I ask. Curly stands up with me. I walk around him and towards the hallway. Curly follows.

"Right after you agreed to be my girlfriend for a week. Remember? The next week I agreed to be your boyfriend. You threw yourself into the part." He states as he follows me into the hallway and towards the laundry room.

"Sorry to burst your bubble, but I did that to save my reputation." I say as I enter the laundry room and open the dryer door slightly, letting the dryer shut off. I can feel the warm air from the dryer on my arm, and the smell of lavender. I gather the clothes up along with my Caprinis. "You didn't leave me with much choice." I state while looking back at him. I walk out of the laundry room and he follows again.

"You didn't have to do half of what you did, though." Curly responds. We could have simply played boyfriend and girlfriend, ate lunch together, held hands, traded bubblegum.

"In your dreams." I say as I round the stairs and start climbing them. "It'll be a cold day in Jamaica before I trade bubblegum with you."

"My point is that you didn't have to give me that picture, you didn't have to make the shirt saying that I'm your boyfriend. All that drama. You're a natural born actress."

"I was fighting fire with fire. Nothing more, nothing less." I reach the top of the stairs and stand there. I turn around to look at Curly. "Besides, you didn't make it easy on me at all."

Curly grins and puts a hand to his chest. "I can't help it. I have a flair for drama, my pet."

"Jeez." I raise my head then turn around and continue on towards the bathroom. "Again with the 'my pet'."

Once I reach the open door to the bathroom I stop and look at Curly, he stammers. "I, I should go downstairs and wait for you. Holler at me if you need anything."

I shake my head. "No. It's...it's okay if you stay up here." I enter the bathroom then slowly close the door as Curly walks to stand I front of it. I lock the door and kick off the flip flops. I place my clothing at my feet along with my Caprinis then look at myself in the mirror. My hair is horrible. I guess the rain washed all of my expensive French conditioner out.

I untie the belt to the bathrobe and open it up. I almost don't want to because the fabric still feels great. "Your parents sure know how to clean clothing." I say while letting the bathrobe drop to my feet. I eye the bottom of the door and kick at the bathrobe until it is blocking the crevice.

"Well, my parents are teaching me the ropes. I hope to inherit the dry cleaners one day and settle down. Start a family, perhaps with you."

I pause as I'm putting on my bra. "Are you sure it's wise to think that far ahead?" I ask as I clasp my bra and bend down to work up my panties. "And what makes you think I'll go along with it? What if my daddy decides to move closer to Wall Street? Who will you go after then?" I finish with my underwear and start on my pants.

"Just so that we're clear..." Comes the muffled voice behind the door. "...What I said, I meant it all. I'm in love with you Rhonda. If you did move away, I'd find some way to keep in touch with you. I hope that never happens, but if you must then I can't stop you. You are the most beautiful girl I have ever seen, you have your whole life ahead of you, and the world is yours, oh ballerina of my dreams."

"That's a new one Curly, not creepy at all. In fact, that's pretty good." I finish with my pants and start on my shirt, lifting it up and around my head.

"It is? Thank you my precious love goddess."

"And that just spoiled the moment." I say, laughing. I sit down and start picking the newspaper out from the inside of my boots.

"It did, didn't it." Comes his admission. Then silence as I pick the remaining newspaper out of my Caprinis. I slowly put them on after fitting my socks on my feet. They still feel a little wet. But they're not uncomfortable. Curly did his best, I think. I look up at the door.

"Curly?" I ask the door.

"Yes?"

"I know in the fourth grade, after you tried to chase me down and cut my hair off I took this back, but I'll try this again. I still think you're an okay guy."

"... really?"

I nod at the door. "In a creepy, overly dramatic, I am so getting a restraining order if word of what happened today gets out sort of way. But. Yes." I look at myself in the mirror. My hair is so frazzled but my clothing looks good. I use my hands and work them through my hair, finally sighing and dropping my hands in defeat. It's useless, my hair is dead right now. I'll have to do this when I get home.

I reach down and pick up the bathrobe, but before I put it back up on the hanger I stop, I pull it close and hug it to myself for a moment.

"Rhonda? Are you okay?" Curly asks through the door.

Perhaps I should try and tolerate Curly. Be his friend. Then maybe some girl will take notice of him. But would I be doing him a favor? "Yes Curly, I'm coming out." I reach for the door and open it. Outside of the bathroom Curly is leaning back against the closet door. He looks at me and I can tell his eyes are wandering.

I smile as I toss the bathrobe to Curly, who catches it with his hands in a less than graceful way. "You'll probably want to clean that. If your mom catches a whiff of my shampoo she'll start asking questions." Curly nods at me. I walk towards the stairs and Curly follows.

"So where are you going?"

I stop at the stairs and look back at him. "I'm going home. My hair is a mess and I just can't be seen in public like this." I turn back to the stairs and start walking down. "And I'm serious, Curly. Not one word from you about what happened today. Agreed?"

"I didn't take any pictures for evidence, did I?" Comes his response.

"I'll take that as a yes." I grin as I approach the bottom of the stairs.

"Only if you promise me something in return." I stop dead in my tracks. Uh. Oh. I frown and slowly turn around to look up at Curly.

"W-What?"

"I have to be repaid for my services somehow you know." Curly grins and folds his arms as he leans against the railing of the stairs.

"What do you want, Gamelthorpe?" I cross my arms and lift my head up. I should take back everything I said. The creep...

"It's simple." He smiles as he takes off his glasses and looks at me, while cleaning them with his shirt. I can't help but stare at him, lost in his eyes. I've never seen Curly without his glasses on before. He's cute. He really is cute. I blush at the thought and turn away from him. He continues, "just promise me that you wont give up on that little girl at the ballet."

I look back at him as he places his glasses back on his head. Did he do that knowing he'd have some kind of effect on me? "I'm sorry, Curly. But I can never be that little girl again." I shake my head and turn around, walking towards the door.

"I can always hope, my love." He says softly behind me as he follows.

I reach for the doorknob. "Of course you can." I say as I twist the knob and open the door. I scowl at the rain outside. It's softer but I don't have an umbrella.

"Here you go." I turn and look around the door at Curly. He's holding out a large black umbrella, handle first, still clutching the bathrobe in his other hand. "You can keep it if you want, I have a spare in my closet."

I take the umbrella from his hand. "Thank you."

"It's nothing really. I'd go to the ends of the earth for you my precious gem of a..."

"Curly." I interrupt him and something deep down admonishes me. "Thank you for helping me. And clean that bathrobe, and the towel." Curly grips the bathrobe tighter and grins at me. Perhaps I should take it from him and run. Who knows. I don't wanna know.

I unfurl the umbrella and take that first step to the outside world, free of Curly's house. I let the umbrella open as I turn back. "Goodbye Curly, see you at school."

He grins and says a simple "goodbye," then closes the door and I stare at it for a second. Did all of that just happen?

I turn around and walk down the stoop, then to my right. "I swear if that creep so much as utters a word about what happened today I'll ruin him." I shouldn't have said that, I know, but he's still creepy.

I can feel the rain drops hitting the umbrella, and stray raindrops are hitting my boots. It's a good thing I have spares, but these are my favorite Caprinis. Perhaps I can do what Curly did. I shake my head. Why is Curly still in my head. I should forget him and go on, but I can't. Those eyes...

I stop and turn around slightly. I can still see Curly's house a few houses away. I turn to resume walking but I just can't walk. I think of that little girl at the ballet, the one Curly insisted was still here. Perhaps Curly's right. Perhaps some part of that little girl is still with me. I smile as I look around. No one is watching. I lift the umbrella above my head along with my other hand, and twirl around...

End

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Author's Corner

This story was directly inspired by the episode _Curly's Girl, _one of my favorite episodes_. _I have a soft spot for Curly and even more of a soft spot for Rhonda. While watching _Curly's Girl,_ I had a moment of inspiration to write a story concerning their shared past. This little literary endeavor is the result.

I must give the standard thank you to Lord Malachite. Once again his mastery of the English language astounds me. My work would cause people to cut themselves on the sharp edges if he wasn't there to help me sand those edges down. My comma splicing can kill!

First draft completed: 11/9/2008

Posted: 11/15/2008


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